Foggy Night Serenade
by purplecheshirecat
Summary: Jack and OC, kidnapping and another case of revenge. Please R&R!!
1. Chapter One

Title: Foggy Night Serenade Chapter One

Rating: R (though probably not for this chapter)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Pirates, though if I owned Johnny Depp do you _re-ally think I'd be writing about him? *scoff*_

Author's Note: Saw the movie, loved it, now I have to tweak it 'cause I'm a fan fic writer and that's what we do. Anyway, this actually takes place on a completely different island, (Barbados to be exact) and has more to do with Captain Jack than any of the other characters, though they may or may not make appearances later, depending on my mood.

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Barbados, 1670

     The room was furnished, actually probably furnished better than it should have been. Rich drapes hung from the expensive windows, a mural of palm trees, tropical flowers, animals and many mythic creatures painted in loving detail ensconced one wall of the room. The other wall held a row of windows, drapes pulled wide to show the view. The island wasn't necessarily mountainous (though mountains there were) but this mansion sat on a hill, overlooking the sea. The bed was heavy mahogany, silks hanging from the canopy to drown out the light from the day, but the occupant had insisted they be pulled back. The room, in fact the house itself, sang of wealth. It caroled good English nobility, but plenty of finery stolen from other places. 

     The day was bright, if the windows were opened the birds would have been found chirping, the sounds of the workers in the cane fields with their rhythmic songs would have been lulling. But the doctor would have none of that. He snapped his valise shut with an audible _snap_, shaking his head and sighing. If they would not let him help her (not just her body, her mind as well), then odds were she would die, though by now he was beginning to wonder if even she cared any longer. 

     The doctor was a young man, fresh out of Oxford he'd sailed to this island in hopes of becoming the personal physician to Governor James Smyth, and he had, though the position had also brought him to help the local nobility as well. He shook his head again. This girl was beyond help, had been for some time. The only thing for it was to keep her comfortable. He looked around the opulent room again. Why was it that the gentry insisted on flaunting their wealth as if anyone could forget who was rich and who was not? 

In England, in this day and age, if one was not entitled, then one was nothing. The doctor himself had fought long and hard to be allowed to study medicine, to find the precious pounds it would take to send himself through medical school when ironically his family held a title, but no money to go along with it. If not for the odd jobs he'd found doing things he didn't care to think about, his great-grand-father's title of "sir" would have died with him. That was another thing. The nobility (even the lesser nobles like himself) were too proud to work anything lower than what they deemed their station. 

     The girl on the bed sighed in her sleep and coughed a soft sound that turned into a great wracking that finally shook her body awake. She sat up, eyes uncomprehending her surroundings for a moment, but eventually she remembered where she was. She remembered that it was not in fact where she wished to be and he was the only witness to the small crumbling of the delicate muscles next to her eyelids, the short breath that escaped her lips as she realized once again that she was still a prisoner in her own house. The coverlet fell and he found himself staring at the lace of her nightdress and she blushed faintly, reaching for the delicate silk shawl, neatly folded on the bedside table. "Good afternoon, doctor," she addressed him softly, pulling the material around her shoulders and shivering violently from a cold that had nothing to do with the hot Caribbean weather. 

     "Good afternoon, Mistress Lockwood. I trust you had a pleasant sleep?" He answered politely and she shrugged, smiling a little condescendingly.

     "You know this house, doctor, is anything in it pleasant?" He nodded his ascent, pushing a curl of hair back underneath his staunch, white horsehair wig. 

     "I am… sorry that things couldn't have been different for you, Mistress." He saw the fine trembling in her lower lip and cursed himself for bringing it up. "Forgive me," he rushed, "I blundered. I didn't mean to-"

     "It's alright, doctor. You only voiced the thought that hasn't left my mind since I returned home." She rested her hands on her flat belly underneath the coverlet. "If things had been different…" she turned to look out of the bank of windows, letting out a sigh, "Ah, if things had been very, very different." He thought he detected a tear form in the crease of her eye, where the lid touched her soft, flawless cheek. The doctor, Sir Gregory Hamilton, instinctively stepped forward, automatically retrieving a handkerchief from the deep pocket of his frock coat. 

     "Mistress…," she looked over her shoulder at him and the curtain of auburn hair that the forest green eye shown through had him dispensing with formality completely. "Isabelle," he finished softly, handing her the handkerchief and reaching forward to tuck the curtain back from her face so that she was forced to look him in the eye. "You are ill, but you must allow yourself to leave this depression. It is not good for you." 

     "No, it isn't, is it? But then, have I ever done anything particularly good for me, Gregory?" She answered softly, putting a gentle lilt to his name that made him realize he was overstepping his bounds. He pulled back, settling for placing his hands over her demurely folded ones. 

     "If I could undo what I have done… but it _was_ for your own good. Please believe that." She nodded her voice soft, yet surprisingly strong when she spoke again.

     "I know what is believed to be for my own good. And while I thank you for being kind, please remember that the only thing you helped my father to do was murder someone he saw as a threat." 

     "The child would have killed you; you are not strong enough to survive heavy labor, my lady." Sir Hamilton's voice shook with the wounded pride evident on his face. He did what was right, he knew it! "And may I remind you that the fruits of such a union as the one you were forced to endure would hardly be considered welcome in polite society."    

     "The same society that condemns bastardry also allows atrocities to be committed against the weaker sex by the same people who are supposed to protect them. First my father, then you, hadn't you just sworn you wanted only to protect me, Sir Hamilton?" 

     "That's not fair." Sweat broke on Sir Hamilton's brow, a fine dusting of moisture that had him wiping it with his hand, as the woman on the bed held the linen handkerchief clenched between her hands. He shook his head, refusing to believe for a moment that he had taken part in the evil that she claimed her father to have committed. "Your father ordered the abortion because he feared for your safety, you were a weak child, he feared-"

     "He feared the father would return and do what needed to be done!"

     "…He feared you would have been socially ostracized. He didn't want your life ruined. You will heal, Lady Isabelle. You will have children again. I was very careful, considerably more careful than my predecessor would have been."

     "Ah yes, my father wanted to call back Doctor Eastman, did you know that? In his anger he didn't care if I lived or died with my child, he wanted me punished. It was only by Governor Smyth's mercy that he was refused. Don't think I don't remember, or didn't you want to know how I came by this?" She gestured to her other eye, the one she had been careful to avoid showing to the room for his examination. Though it had happened a week ago, the blow to her face had been a massive one, the wound still swollen so much that she could barely open her eye all the way, tiny blood vessels inside the orb had broken, drowning the shimmering green iris in a gory red. The doctor winced.      

     "You were hysterical, crazed; they had to restrain you from running out into the night. That came from your father's attempts to restrain you, Isabelle. Don't create falsehoods to prove your point." He wouldn't believe what she told him about the man that had taken the young doctor into his home; he had ignored the servants' whispers that corroborated her story because he had to believe that some shred of decency still ruled this house. Otherwise the lovely young woman on the bed was in more danger here alone than he cared to think about. She laughed softly.

     "I suppose you're right. It's insanity to believe that in my long months held hostage away from this island I had no solace. That I felt no peace away from my sainted father and my home, my captors were animals and I should go to my father on bended knees, thanking him for his generosity in taking me back and the great lengths to which he went to ensure that my good name wasn't ruined. What are they saying now? That the kidnappers did nothing to my person, that I am not recovering from a procedure usually reserved for whores and fishwives with to many brats, but that I am suffering from exhaustion from my rather… unconventional vacation? Who started those rumors, Gregory? You? Or my father, afraid his daughter's dowry would have to be raised to insufferably large prices to ensure that the intolerable child be taken off his hands?" She crossed her arms under her breasts, leaning back against the large pillows thrown against the headboard, suddenly lightheaded from her impassioned speech. She was, after all, still recovering. 

     "I am sorry, M'lady. But there is no talking to you when you are having one of your… episodes." Gregory Hamilton answered finally, his voice stiff with the effort not to beg her to lie to him. He wanted so very much to believe that her father was not the man he knew him to be, because as soon as she was recovered enough to walk on her own, Doctor Hamilton knew his services would no longer be needed at the house, he would be forced to leave for propriety's sake and the girl would be left to the whims of a mad man. A man who not only allowed a very dangerous procedure that killed more than it helped done to his daughter, but actually threatened to do on his own with a bent table knife if the good doctor didn't do it himself. 

     Isabelle Lockwood stared silently at the doctor with his blue velvet frock coat, his white wig and high, starched cravat. His eyes said he knew she was telling the truth, but she could tell that he couldn't believe the horrors she had to live. She realized suddenly that while he was older than her, though the years be not many, that he was also suddenly very, very young. His sweaty hand gripped the handle of his valise and he turned stiffly for the door. "Doctor Hamilton?" she called softly and he stopped, the heavy white door with its silver gilded trim opened to reveal the cool darkness of the hallway. His head cocked gently to the side and she knew he was listening. "I am… sorry too." He nodded curtly, the left, closing the door gently with a soft _snick of the metal knob. She heard the sound of a key scratching in the lock moments later. As usual when she was not alone, she was locked in. Whether or not Hamilton wanted to believe it, she was more prisoner here than she ever was on the Pearl. _

     Isabelle felt a white hot tear course down her cheek and she dashed at it absent mindedly, staring again at the teal colored waters of the bay as they lapped the white sand outside. "Oh Jack," she sighed softly, wrapping the edges of the shawl more securely around her shoulders, "where are you?" 

     _And why haven't you come for me? Her traitorous heart screamed in her chest. _


	2. Chapter Two

Title: Foggy Night Serenade 2/? 

Rating: NC-17 (eventually)

Disclaimer: Don't own anybody but my people, don't sue

Author: redqueeninwonderland

Email: redqueeninwonderland@yahoo.com

Author's Notes: here's the next chapter, hope ya'll enjoy!

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Barbados, 1670- Many months before

       Isabelle Lockwood sighed, reaching behind her neck to the immensely coiffured configuration of curls, sliding both hands up her neck and into the tresses for a prolonged scratch that had her guiltily thinking of the hours it had taken her maid to achieve such a standard in hair. The night had been long, the party seeming endless as usual, all of the parties on this God forsaken island seemed endless. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been forced to deal with the eternal litany of speeches from the men, catty gossip from the powdered women, and then round after round of stately court dances that kept the young nobles at a respectful distance and kept her as close to the ruling class as possible. England may boast of a parliament, of governors acting as regents in Her island colonies, but in reality the ruling class was the ruling class and they insisted on keeping as much of the rules of the _ton together as possible. _

       At least her father had been in a good mood tonight. She looked behind her at the lighted windows of the elaborate mansion. Dancers still moved in their brocaded finery, the strings and harps still sounded, it was obvious the party was still in full swing. But Isabelle had begged off early, claiming softly to her father that the vague notion of "women's troubles" was sending her upstairs to bed. He'd let her go, blushing an interesting shade of red at the idea that he had any notion as to what "women's troubles" would be, then returned to the punch bowl. Actually the punch bowl seemed to be his assigned station at most parties, gulping down glass after glass with wild abandon. Or at least as wild as a gentleman of his stature was allowed to get. 

       She'd left the ball room, going down the long hallway toward the staircase in the back of the house, then doubling back through the empty dining room and exiting into the gardens through the French doors that led to the wide porch. After reaching the gardens she'd reached down, looking furtively to her left, then her right, and removed first one shoe, then the other. Her delicate, knee high silk stockings and the lacy garters were next, leaving her barefoot on the sand. She'd clutched the shoes and small undergarments close to her body, then padded quick as any monkey (albeit a monkey in yards of silks and satins and stiff whalebone) down to the stretch of beach. 

       The hill upon which the manor house sat was neither particularly large, nor particularly imposing. But running with a person's weight in stones worth of dress upon a body would leave anyone breathless. She stopped when she reached the sand, forcing her body to remain upright, more because the corset dug deep into her sides when she tried to bend than from propriety's sake, and made herself take deep, even breathes. Her sides filled the stiffly brocaded contraption, the breaths coming so deeply and quickly that it seemed her entire chest swelled with the effort, instead of just her lungs. She moaned softly, rolling her neck back to stretch muscles that had been forced to hold up the mountain of hair all night. Isabelle wondered briefly if she could remove the pins herself before dropping the shoes in the sand and plunging her hands again into the twisted confection, attacking it now with insistent fingers. She removed as many of the precious steel bars as she could, shoving them into her left shoe and tossing her hair back. It curled around her shoulders, then down her back in a dense cloud, she couldn't manage the sides or the absolute top on her own, so the hair that would normally frame her face at such an hour remained twined in a soft bun at the crown of her head. 

       She didn't wonder at the picture she made, a maid of obvious quality walking along a deserted beach alone at an hour in which most maidens were asleep in bed. The lack of chaperone itself would be enough to send her father into a blind rage. Couple that with the fact that she'd lied to him about where she was going, then proceeded to undress to the point of indecency by most standards where _common people_, she thought with a disgusted sneer at the look she could imagine on his face, was almost enough to make her go back up to the mansion. 

       She tossed her head back again, the full moon shining on her face enough to make her wince from the unexpected light. She looked up, it was early June, just beginning the rainy season for the islands, the night had begun with clouds, and the sight of the moon now was almost eerie. She looked around, her hands removing themselves from the row of buttons at the low dipping neck of her bodice. Isabelle hadn't realized she'd undone quite so many, but it was so very hideously uncomfortable in these damn dresses! She shook her head again, it was her imagination. There was no one around, the beach was deserted. She realized she'd walked farther than she'd realized, there was a small cove a few feet ahead, a natural cave formed in the rocks of the beach, Devil's Purse it was called. As a child she used to play there, hiding from her nanny until age twelve when the instrument of torture known as the corset had been introduced. Truthfully it was one of her more favorite spots on the beach, but for some reason tonight she felt she should turn and go back to the shadowed gardens of the heart of the estate, to the places where the lights of the ball room showed into the palm greenery and vibrantly muted colors of Caribbean flowers at night. 

       "Don't stop now, love, that'd be a cruel end to the show you started." Isabelle gasped, tearing her eyes away from the cove and toward a copse of trees, the shadows were thick around the bases of them but there was an orange glint and a thin trail of smoke. A cheroot. She glared into the darkness as the moon went behind a cloud. 

       "Show yourself, sirrah, and please be so kind as to put out that weed." she demanded, her voice carrying beyond the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks, now only a few yards ahead. The man in the shadows laughed softly, moving with a grace that seemed feline and she realized he must have been leaning negligently against one of the banana trees. He took a few steps forward, stopping at the end of the shadows, the place where he was as close to her as possible without her being able to see his face, then made a deep, sweeping bow. Swiping the hat from his head in one hand and holding the still smoking cheroot in the other he placed the hat over his heart, mimicking the bow used by the gentlemen she'd just left in the house, though she had a feeling it was more mocking than mimicry. 

       "As my lady wishes," his voice held the barest hint of sarcasm and she could see his eyes, shining out of the shadow with a light that could only be called mischievous. He sprang back up, took a last, long drag on the awful smelling stick and then threw it into the sand, stubbing out the embers with his boot heel. "Now," his voice was low, gruff in a way that spoke of things she had not seen, sea storms and battles fought (lost and won), the sound held danger and Isabelle fought the urge to back up a pace. "What is a lady such as yourself doin' this far from home without an old, white whiskered nanny goat to shield her virginal eyes against a man such as myself?" Isabelle's eyes narrowed.

       "I haven't had need of an Abigail in years, thank you, and my need for chaperone seemed unnecessary, this being private property." A hint of understanding seemed to grace the stranger's features, for he pulled back a notch, a gloved hand immediately going to his chin to finger what she could only assume was his beard. 

       "Ah, so you'd be Lady Lockwood, daughter of the honorable Lord John Lockwood, one of her majesty's more powerful Barons?"

       "Yes, what concern is it of yours?" The man shrugged, obviously amused at something. 

       "Nothing, m'lady, nothing of concern, I just find it interesting and incredibly… ironic, that his lordship chose this particular island to seek refuge after the, ah… unfortunate incident in London."

       "_What_ are you prattling about?" Under normal circumstances, Isabelle forced herself to be polite to those of lesser station than herself. She was annoyed to no end with her father's obvious snobbery, his ability to not just ignore a servant, but to not even see one when they happened to be in a room. It meant the staff of the house was considerably kinder to her than they could have been, but it also had its drawbacks too. There were things in her past, her father's past, she silently corrected herself, that he would not reveal. That the staff would not reveal. If not for her own safety, than to save her pain. But it was still galling, none the less. 

       "Nothing, nothing love, just a memory from a previous lifetime. Now, I find m'self asking the question again. What is a lady of your station doing alone out here," he waved his hand in the general vicinity of the island itself, "without the protection of at least a _legion_ of her majesty's dragoons?" 

       "It wasn't needed." She answered stiffly, though she was finding herself asking the same question. What could she have been thinking? It was obvious from his carriage and demeanor that this man would be dangerous. Further, it was also more than apparent that he was not alone. What she had taken for the sound of waves crashing against the rocks she now realized was simply to hollow for that. It sounded like wood. It had been years since she'd come to this cove, but if she remembered correctly, if one climbed over the rocks the sea had formed a natural bay before the cave, a safe place one could dock a ship if one so desired. "Unless, that is, you wouldn't be threatening me, would you?" She asked sweetly. He made a sound in his throat that could only be described as an incredibly melodramatic 'nay', and then swept himself fully out of the murky shadows. 

       "I would never even think to threaten a creature such as yourself, lady." He grabbed her right hand (the left encumbered still by the slippers and pins and stockings) taking it in both of his and bringing it to his lips, stopping before he could kiss the knuckles. Those eyes she'd noticed earlier shone with amused sincerity, the moon having left its cloud now shown on the planes of his face. Isabelle clenched her jaw in effort not to take stock of him more obviously than her covert gaze was doing. "I only wished to…" he trailed off, thinking of a way to put his next phrase delicately, no doubt, "Offer m'services, so to speak." Isabelle rolled her eyes.

       "Services?" 

       "Well, y'seemed intent on disrobin' earlier. That is to say, before I… interrupted the proceedings like any well bread bloke would do. And," he shrugged, her hand still trapped between his, the soft leather of the gloves forming an effective cage for her delicate skin. "And," he continued, dipping his head to be sure he had her undivided attention, "I'd be more than happy to help you finish the job, y'savvy? Ladies clothing being as they are, it's quit a job to remove it all yourself and being as how I'm familiar enough with it… I'm sure we could reach an agreement as to the exchange of services-"

       "You…" she spluttered, wrenching her hand from his and stumbling back, "you… swine!" the stranger closed his eyes and bowed his head in resignation, waving a hand as if to say that was in fact one of his titles and he was most undeserving of it. "You bounder! …Cad!" she finished, suddenly unable to go on as a loud laugh sounded from the rocks. The stranger straightened, cursing under his breath and then calling toward the figure as it stood spread legged, arms crossed over his chest and head thrown back in a laugh. 

       "You find something funny, Mr. Gibbs?"  The man hooted again, shaking his head and raising his hands in the air in a 'never mind' gesture. 

       "And here I thought tha' you'd lost your interest in the fairer sex after we left young Will with his lady love." The man snorted, the rocks weren't so very far away that Isabelle couldn't hear it, actually, she could discern the very color of the man's dirty trousers from where she stood, but she remained silent, anger a cold thing in her stomach. The man referred to as Mr. Gibbs climbed down the rocks quickly, jumping to the ground and walking the twenty or so feet to where the couple stood with an ease that surprised Isabelle, she would have put him at well past forty. "Ah, but then… now that I've had a look at her I kin why she sparked yer interest, man." He gave her an obvious once over that rather than scaring her, as he seemed to want to do, simply managed to flare the rage within her from icy to positively Nordic depths. She narrowed her eyes, glaring coolly at both men, who were now obviously amused at her expense. Gibbs nodded again, seeming to be unable to resist the jibe. "Yes sir, a fine piece, this one. What'll we do with her, then?" 

       Isabelle arched a perfect eyebrow, her distain causing the stranger to clench his jaw. If she didn't know any better she'd think she'd startled him. What, did he expect her to lie down and let him simply ravage her with no fight other than to feebly scream once or twice? Hardly! "You will allow me to leave, returning to my home and thankfully forgetting I ever laid eyes on either one of you." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, hair that had before this shrouded her half unbuttoned bodice, but now exposed far more creamy skin than was even remotely considered decent. Actually it was even below _in_decent. She supposed the corset was a good thing after all, without it they'd have had a perfect view of her breasts through the thin silk chemise. A parting glare and she tightened her fingers on her slippers, turning with a twist of her body and a swirl of skirts she made it perhaps ten paces before she heard the sound of a pistol being cocked.

       "Kindly stop where you are, Mistress," she froze, lifting her head a notch and forcing herself not to turn around though the gruff voice sent icy shivers down her spine. Isabelle's breath caught somewhere in her throat and she tightened her jaw, she would not faint. She would not! The stranger made a confirming sound and she heard the sound of the hammer on the pistol being gently turned to it's normal place. "There's a good love," he murmured, coming so close behind her that she could feel his clothes brush her hair as his chest swelled with breath. "I would have hated to have shot such a fine show of feminine beauty." Isabelle rolled her eyes. 

       "Please refrain from flattery, sir, it doesn't impress me." She thought she heard Gibbs snort and she clamped down a sarcastic retort. The stranger circled her so that she was forced to look him in the eye, so close now that she could smell the tobacco on his breath, the salt on his skin, and below that something darker, something that called to a part of her she didn't even know existed. 

       "So I see, m'lady, so I see," he affirmed, "It is truly a shame that you chose tonight of all nights to come down to this particular cove, Mistress Lockwood. The fact that you now know Mr. Gibbs' name and face is regrettable but not altogether unfixable. As for myself… who am I?" She rolled her eyes.

       "I can only assume you're a pirate." 

       "Smart wench," Gibbs muttered under his breath, coming to stand just to the left of Isabelle's field of vision. "Is this really necessary, Jack? Just give her a good bump on the head and let's be off." The stranger, now called Jack glared at the man to his right. He made a sound that voiced would have been a curse. Isabelle rolled her eyes.

       "So your name is Jack. That means nothing to me, sir. Now, please, let me be on my way." She forced herself to sound annoyed, bored even. But now she realized that there was a very real danger here. The man had not denied being a pirate, in fact, he'd seemed to take it in the same stride that the epithet 'pig' or 'swine' seemed to affect him. She wondered if he really was as bloodthirsty as the stories about pirates seemed to be. Then shook herself, what was it about that word 'pirate' that seemed to make normally well bred ladies swoon into oblivion?  The stranger, Jack, she corrected in her head snorted as well, shaking his head and scratching a place on the base of his skull.

       "Why do I get the feelin' you're to stubborn to be lyin'? You honestly have no idea, do you?" She glared again and he laughed, grinning a smile that caused the gold in his teeth and also deemed it hard for her to breathe. She convinced herself it was the stink of the damned cheroot. "Well, tha's it then. Come my lady, I'll see you back to your house." He sprang back, offering an elbow to a very surprised Isabelle and an obviously resigned Gibbs.       

       "Just be careful this time, Jack. We don't need to be fixing anymore holes in the bloody ship." The pirate Jack chuckled under his breath, pushing his tri-corned hat farther up his head in a tawdry salute to the other man.  

       "Have everything ready, this won't take long Mr. Gibbs." He tugged gently on the hand Isabelle had placed in the crook of his arm and she realized with a start that she wasn't moving. She wanted to go back to the mansion, of course she did. She wanted to get away from this man, this… pirate. So why was she suddenly so against returning home? "Is something wrong, missy?" She shook her head, tossing her hair back in a flamboyant gesture Jack was beginning to associate as simply her nature. 

       "Why would anything be wrong? I'm being escorted back to my house by a thief and blackguard who makes his living robbing the citizens of his own country blind. A man who I can only assume is both bloodthirsty and full of greed. I'm half undressed, my father doesn't realize I'm gone, and there's a party going on up there, there's no way in blue blazes I'm going to be able to explain this!" Jack bit his lip, seeming to take stock of what she'd just said.

       "Hmm. Both a thief and a blackguard y'say? Well, I'm frightful indeed. Though you certainly don't seem to be the least bit afraid of me, now do ye, love? As for the half undressed, there's a damn sight more clothes on you than off, the little bit of flesh that you're showing is less than I'm used ta seein' in the bald moonlight and that was no one's fault but your own. For how your fine father would react to your being out alone… how would any father react to his only child walking a deserted beach where there be pirates runnin' about?" 

       "You don't deny piracy?" He shrugged.

       "Why should I? It doesn't suite my purposes to lie just now, besides, I'm not exactly dressed to be anything else at the moment." Isabelle realized they were nearing the gardens. She stopped, halting completely and bending as though to re-adorn herself. Jack took a step back, allowing her her space and giving himself to watch her move. Gibbs was right. She was a pretty piece. Though on her own there was nothing to convince him she was worth all the time it was taking him away from his ship. He sighed, glancing up at the mansion, it was still lit, though obviously the party was dying down considerably. There were no longer any couples dancing, the people still milled about, though rather aimlessly, talking quietly amongst themselves. Isabelle straightened after putting her slippers back on her feet. The buttons on the bodice were another matter and she struggled with them silently, valiantly refusing help that Jack had offered earlier and finishing, though she still held half a dozen steel pins in her hand. She shrugged, refusing to even bother with them in her hair. 

       "Thank you for seeing me back, you can go now." She turned away. 

       "Awe, ye're to kind, love. But you're not back yet, now are ye?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, her green eyes shining.

       "What?" Jack grinned, flashing those gold teeth again and she fought the urge to smack them from his head.

       "I said I'd return you to the house and your father, ye're not back to either of those just because ye're standing next to a bush, now are ye?" He waved a hand at the mansion. "Besides, it looks like I missed a helluva party." Isabelle shook her head vehemently.

       "No." 

       "Yes. Come now, love, we'll go around back if you don't want me to be seen." She glared, her eyes shining brighter. If Jack didn't know any better he'd swear that she was finally getting scared. 

       "No." 

       "Afraid what being seen with me will do to your reputation? Well, can't be good, really, making time with a blackguard and a thief." He shook his head with mock severity, "No, no, no, wouldn't do at all." He shrugged. "But, as they say, the truth will set you free." He grabbed her wrist, his fingers circling the bones and she dug her heels into the soft earth. 

       "No!" 

       "Yes!" He jerked her arm and she smacked his shoulder, the steel hair pins falling forgotten to the ground. 

       "Let me go, damn you!" 

       "Such language from a lady, m'lady you should be ashamed!" He was fighting very hard not to laugh, though this was a damned nuisance, wasn't it? Him with a hellcat of a woman fighting tooth and nail so that she wouldn't be returned to her own home while he had a ship full of people depending on him to get them out of this bloody island without any new scars to show for it. 

       "Unhand her!" Jack froze, bloody hell! He did as told, drawing himself up, his hands open in the air to show them unarmed. Isabelle said something that closely resembled a curse, but it was so soft under her breath that Jack couldn't be sure. 

       "Father," she whispered softly, her head bowing she jerked her skirts around her so that she walked the few steps to him. The man stood about medium height, his wig firmly in place, a large sword drawn and ready, the tip dangerously close to Jack's nose. 

       "Isabelle, what in the world are you doing out here alone? Who is this miscreant and why was he pawing you?" 

       "He wasn't-"

       "The hell he wasn't, girl do you think me blind as well as daft? You say you must be excused because of female problems, yet here I find you, out in the garden at such an hour as to lead to the conclusion that the only feminine problem I see is wantonness."

       "Father!" Her shocked tone had the man glaring down at the girl at his side, though his sword arm never wavered. It never ceased to amaze her, the man could be blind drunk, but put a weapon in his hands and they were steady as a surgeon's. 

       "Don't you 'father' me, daughter. I will not stand for this under my roof! I'll turn you out, do you hear me?!" 

       "Well… It seems this is a rather awkward situation for all of us then, ain't it?" Jack began quietly, surprised more than anything else that a member of the ton would speak to his daughter so callously in front of a complete stranger. Though, Jack surmised, if Lord Lockwood would take the time to see through his drunken haze he would see that Jack was not in fact a stranger. 

       "Quiet, you." Lord John lowered his sword slowly, sheathing it with a flourished practice that would have been more flourished had he not been so inebriated, and put a hand on his daughter's forearm. Jack could tell the touch was far from gentle by the way the girl flinched and he narrowed his eyes. John Lockwood had never been held high in his estimation, but just now he was sinking low on the man's list of honorable people. "We will not have this conversation again, daughter!" he turned back to Jack, "Be on your way and I won't call for the guard."

       "Now, I'm not sure if I should just… leave…" Jack began, trying to get the man to recognize him, he was here for a confrontation of sorts and that couldn't be had without at least recognition. 

       "You will leave my property, rogue, and pray God that I don't find out your name or I will see your entire family hanged." Lockwood turned his attention back to his daughter, hauling her back toward the mansion with so much force that she stumbled in the sand, falling in the voluminous folds of the dress. He cursed, dragging her to her feet and back handing her with a speed that left her gasping, again in the sand. "Get up, slut! You will not use my house to-" he raised his hand again to the prone figure in the sand. She lay there gasping, forcing herself not to faint. Isabelle shivered, if she fainted now… 

       "Now wait just a minute, my lord, we'll have none of that." Sir John froze, his hand still in the air. The moon was behind Jack, he was silhouetted in shadow, but the metallic glint on the brace of pistols was unmistakable. 

       "How dare you tell me how to raise my daughter!" Sir John showed the appropriate degree of scandalized while Isabelle closed her eyes against a wave of nausea. She was suddenly so light headed it was hard to see and she was forced to wonder exactly how hard her father had hit her. 

       "It seems to me, she's pretty well raised already, and as to how you did that… well… that isn't my concern either, yer lordship. Now, you're going to go back into that big house of yours and do some thinking this night," Jack was thinking himself, quickly, trying to figure out what the bloody hell he was doing, "and remember exactly what happened here, word for word, detail for bloomin' detail. And when you wake up tomorrow with a raging headache and a cottoned mouth, remember this my lord… I don't like you any more now than I did at Shepherd's Point, savvy?" The man paled visibly.

       "It's not possible…!"

       "Oh I think a good many things are possible, m'lord. The damned can come back dressed in women's frippery, lookin' for gold and with an annoying little monkey. Trust me, I've seen it. But as for this, it's no work of Satan, just a little… miscalculation on your part. Can ye get up then, love?" The last part was directed at Isabelle and she made a soft sound in the back of her throat. He glared in her father's direction, placing one of the pistols back in it's holster, but keeping the other well aimed, cocked and ready. Taking a few steps, Jack gently took her arm, guiding her to her feet. She sagged gratefully against him and he stumbled, accommodating the sudden addition of her weight to his frame. 

       "What do you think you're doing with my daughter?" Jack chuckled, the man was either to drunk to fully comprehend who he was, or he was just refusing to face facts. 

       "Think of her as a little… insurance, then, won't ye and heed what I said." 

       "What makes you think you'll be able to make it ten feet off this estate after I get into that house?" Lord Lockwood demanded and Jack chuckled, glancing at the man's daughter and then making a sudden, swift movement, catching the man square in the chest with his boot heel. Lockwood was thrown into the trunk of a tree, wiping all expression from his face as he slid down the wood, completely out cold. 

       "Because ye won't be going back to ye're house, now will ye?" He sighed, "Are you alright?" Isabelle stared up into his eyes in surprise, making a sound that could have been a yes, but something choked inside her and she shivered once, going completely limp. Jack rolled his eyes heavenward, catching her just before she fell and hefting the girl onto his shoulder. It seemed an awful lot of trouble to go to for revenge, but then, not nearly as much as he'd been through before. 


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Foggy Night Serenade 3/?

Rating: R-ish?

Disclaimer: Don't own anybody

Summary: Here's the third chapter, not much happens really 'cept she wakes up on board the ship. Thanks to everybody who's reviewed so far, I really appreciate it!

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Somewhere at sea, 1670

       "That's it, this time he's really off his knob!" 

       "Or mayhap he's thinkin' wi it instead of losin' it." 

       "What're we gonna do with a woman on board?" 

       "Somebody needs to tell him-"

       "Tell me _what, exactly gentlemen...And Anamaria," Jack glared at the group standing outside his cabin door, each with arms either folded or in Anamaria's case, on her hips. She glared at him, making her opinion more than known without a word. The other three seasoned sailors seemed at a loss as to how they should make their opinions to their captain. Jack arched an eyebrow, waving his hand in a 'by all means' gesture and feet were shuffled, mumbles about superstitions and bad luck from Gibbs and a few other things that sounded suspiciously like the men weren't pleased with him. Jack smirked. "So basically what ye're sayin' is you don't want the woman on board. Is that about the sound of it, mates?" _

       "Aye," caroled the answer he was looking for and he pressed on. 

       "Is that _any woman then? Or just the one in question?" Anamaria scowled, but the others didn't seem to notice. _

       "Females are naught but trouble on ship board," Gibbs affirmed and the other assembled crewmen didn't deny the statement either. Jack shrugged, giving a world weary sigh and shaking his head, the odd collection of beads and leather ties in his hair flying about his face. 

       "Alright then. First shanghai Anamaria and then we'll throw Mistress Lockwood in after her." He made a show of brushing past the men and going to the door of the cabin before he was stopped by the ebony colored vixen on deck.

       "Now wait just a minute ye rat faced bastard!" Jack stopped, turning to look her full in the face.

       "Ye have a problem with that arrangement, I'll warrant?"

       "Ye damn right I've a problem wi it, and damn you for a coward, Jack Sparrow if ye're afraid to say ye want me gone!" Jack spread his arms wide.

       "I never said _I wanted ye gone, darlin'. But pay attention," he gestured to the suddenly sullen pirates, "the __men do. And that's what counts really," he drew himself up to his full height, "it is my duty as their captain to keep them happy." _

       "They ne'er said-"

       "They said any woman, dove. And last time I checked… ye were one."

       She glared at the group and they shuffled their feet. Max, one closest to Gibbs wouldn't meet her gaze, but he hastened to try and smooth the ruffled feathers. "But you ain't like other women, Anamaria. Ye're… almost…like ye were a…" he floundered, not wanting to offend the firebrand. She slugged him anyway.

       "I'm like a what?" Gibbs gave Jack a heated look and he smirked. If they were going to quibble about the sex of the people on board, it was better to start with the ones that were permanent members. He'd no intention of keeping the Lady here any longer than she had to be. And Anamaria had made it more than known (he had the scars to prove it) that she wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

       "Now that that's settled and it's obvious that at least one woman is allowed, I'm going to go see to the hostage. Mr. Gibbs?" Gibbs nodded, following him in. The two had discussed it earlier and decided that she probably would take the news better if there were two of them there. Or rather, one to tell her and the other to restrain her when she went for Jack's throat. Gibbs shook his head, why was it that the captain always managed to find the woman that wanted him dead more than they wanted him bedded? 

       Stepping easily into the cabin, the two looked to the figure on the bed. She'd passed clean out in her father's garden and Jack had had to carry her to the ship. By the time they'd managed to get her aboard, out of those damn clothes and in a bed it had been near dawn and they'd had to catch the tide. By now they were miles out to sea and there was no hope of simply dumping her back ashore. Gibbs wasn't even particularly sure where they were headed anyway. The figure on the bed sighed softly in her sleep, one hand tangled up in the fullness of her hair, the other plunged beneath the pillow. She turned on her side and the deep v of the shirt she wore showed a line of flesh that reached so far between her breasts it was almost to her navel. He purposely made himself look at the wall. 

       "D'ye really thinks it wise, Jack? A woman lookin' like that aboard a ship full o'men whose only other source for female company be Anamaria?" Jack scowled, looking up from the pieces of parchment spread out on his desk. 

       "They damn well better know to stay away from her, or they'll find out soon enough." 

       "I didn't mean it like that… just, she's used to a certain type, ye'see and we ain't exactly that, now are we?" Jack snorted. No, the members of his crew were certainly not gentlemen. But that didn't matter much to him; they did what they were told and understood not to question orders. Most of them anyway. 

       "It won't last long either way. I'm not taking years to go after her father like I did Barbosa. A month, maybe two. Then I'll leave her ashore in Barbados and we'll be on our way, savvy?" Gibbs raised his eyebrows, was it ever that easy when Jack Sparrow had a woman concerned? The figure on the mattress groaned and the captain muttered something about sleeping females, then produced a vial of something that looked suspiciously like smelling salts. Gibbs would have asked how he'd come by those, but one: he didn't want to know, and two: he wouldn't put anything past Jack.

       Sparrow held the vial in one hand and used his other to smooth the hair off the girl's face. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture and Gibbs forced himself again to look elsewhere. Releasing the stopper, Jack deftly swilled it under her nose once, then twice. She winced in her sleep and then coughed, opening her eyes and gasping. Jack smiled down at her, obviously pleased. "There's a good love. Did you sleep well?" 

       "Bloody hell, it wasn't a dream." She said, sitting up in the bed and shrugging his hand from her shoulder. Looking down at herself she gasped, her hands fumbling with the open front of the shirt and lacing it tightly together. "Where in blue blazes are my clothes?" 

       "I thought we'd already discussed m'lady's language," Sparrow began, obvious amusement making the smirk on his face deepen and a dimple appear. "As to ye're clothes, they've been taken away so that ye could breathe."

       "I want them back." She answered stubbornly and Jack looked over his shoulder at Gibbs.

       "Would ye listen to that, lad? And after I give her one of me own shirts too." Isabelle flushed a deep crimson, suddenly realizing that it was at least mid-morning and judging from the fact that the room was rocking with a gentle sway, she was onboard a ship. She strove to remember how she came to be here and realized she remembered nothing after fainting in the garden. 

       "Where is my father?"

       "Safe and sound in your house on the hill, I'll warrant. Though the odds of him bein' happy as a clam are rather small," Jack answered, he had a hand fisted and shoved into the bedding on the other side of her body, his own chest so close to hers that Isabelle realized if she moved the slightest bit they'd be touching. It was a gesture that spoke of the man's familiarity with woman. Add that, his shirt adorning her person and her lack of clothes, and she wondered ever harder exactly what had happened to her.

       "What have you done to me?" Sparrow tossed his head, arching an eyebrow and leaning ever closer. His lips were so close to her own that their noses were touching.

       "Nothin' you shouldn't be thankin' me for, love," he answered definitively. Gibbs swallowed a laugh and managed to make the sound more like a derisive snort. Isabelle was nearly frantic now, if she weren't careful, she'd find herself swimming in his eyes. This close she could feel the prickle of his breath on her eye lids, she found herself staring hard at his face, memorizing it, almost. The double braided beard intrigued her, made her want to playfully tug it, gently at first and then… 

       "Get off me," she forced herself to say, shoving him with one hand and sweeping the coverlet from her body she rose. His shirt was so large it hung nearly to her knees, the voluminous folds of the sleeves hung well past her wrists until she pulled them back, the sides split to halfway up her thighs, providing provocative peaks at skin that otherwise she wouldn't dare show. Jack watched her from the bed, intent on understanding what she was doing. She glared at Gibbs, then swept past them both to the door. 

       "I wouldn't do tha' if I was you-" Sparrow began, but she ignored him completely, hauling the oak door open and sweeping out into the bright morning light. Jack waited a beat, forcing himself not to laugh, Gibbs opened his mouth to say something and then abruptly shut it when his captain swept himself to his feet. The sound of ribald laughter came from outside the door, the outraged shrieks of the shrew from Barbados hanging over them. Jack ripped the door back open, spilling himself on deck and yelling a few choice oaths at whoever may be listening. Not one member of the assembled crew seemed to be. 

       Isabelle had gone out the door, tearing out with the full intent on getting back to shore. But what had first angered her, now had her close to tears. There was nothing but horizon on all sides. Nothing but the blue, blue waters of the Caribbean and this damned ship. She looked up. The black sails were pregnant with the salt air and the men on deck seemed to fully enjoy the damp spray that was flung up from the vast pool that their vehicle floated in. She bit her lip, suddenly cold in the borrowed shirt and realizing exactly how  little clothing she was wearing. 

       "If ye're goin' to address them, ye may want to do so from an angle less… provocative, lass." Sparrow offered insolently from behind her. Isabelle jumped, turning to the sound of his voice and realizing the sun was behind her, the soft, white cotton of the shirt deemed nearly transparent and thus exposing the reason behind the men's laughter and avid glances. She flushed crimson from her toes to the roots of her hair and Jack had the fleeting male wonder of exactly which roots he was referring to. "This lads, is the fire headed vixen to which we've extended our hospitality. Does any one of ye still have misgivings about allowing her passage aboard ship?" 

       "Nay, Cap'n and we'd have none a'tall to women aboard again if Anamaria'd adopt a similar habit of dress!" This was met with more ribald laughter from every male hand on deck, with the exception of a dark skinned figure that Isabelle assumed would be Anamaria. The raven headed harridan flung a full bucket of sea water at the hapless sailor, flinging not just water but small fish and seaweed as well. The good natured sailor flung the bits away from his face and retaliated with a bucket of something of his own. Thus followed an interesting display of a fight, obviously meaning nothing, yet occupying the attention of most of those aboard deck. 

       "Will ye return to the cabin now, lass?" Isabelle jumped at the voice so close to her ear. Realizing she was fighting tears she nodded, allowing herself to be led back inside the shadowed darkness of the cabin. He allowed her to sink down into a chair and pull her knees up beneath her body, wrapping her arms around her shoulders as if she were freezing with cold. Jack realized she actually was shaking.

       "Where is Mr. Gibbs?" she asked softly and he grimaced. Just his luck the creature'd go into shock. 

       "Probably out there trying to calm the ruffled feathers of a few of my crew. Ye've created quite a stir, ye have, m'lady." 

       "That was hardly my doing, sirrah," Isabelle pointed out, staring up at him with a mixture of vehemence and distain. 

       "Ye're right. A regrettable thing ta be sure, but unavoidable, nonetheless." He reached for a tea service next to her elbow and poured some of the heady liquid into a delicate china cup, offering the saucer to her he wasn't displeased when she took it from him in surprise. After taking a small sip she sighed, placing the saucer on the table without a tremble of the bone china and looking back up at him as though her strength had been restored. What was it about the bloody English and tea? Give him good rum any day. Of course, he surmised, he was English too. But then… he was also a blackguard and a thief. Ask the wench in front of him. 

       "I'm your hostage, aren't I?" She asked softly and Jack jumped, remembering briefly Gibbs' quip about her being a smart wench on the beach.

       "Yes, that ye are lass. But not in quite the way ye mean." She rolled her eyes.

       "Oh really? So you don't plan on holding me until my father gives up something important to you and also apparently equally valuable to him? You don't plan to threaten to kill me should he not cooperate fully and you don't plan to keep me here on this bloody ship until your demands are met?" 

       "Alright then, ye're a hostage in exactly the way ye mean. Happy now?" 

       "No," she answered softly, staring down at her folded hands. "How do you know my father?" 

       "Tha's not somethin' ye want to be askin' if you don't want to know the answers, miss." He answered sagely, going to the sideboard and pouring himself a healthy amount of liquor.    

       "You haven't used my name once since discovering my parentage, Mr. Sparrow. It begs the question, do you even know it?" Jack arched an eyebrow, an interesting tack to change the subject.

       "I confess I've never been one to remember the names of children still in nappies, Mistress Lockwood. And that be what ye were the last time I saw ye." Isabelle almost pressed that, but she found she was tired suddenly.

       "Isabelle. My name is Isabelle." Jack swallowed what was left in the glass and catching the world weary tone in her voice, he set it back on the shelf, walking the three feet it took to stand directly in front of her. He went slowly to his knees, looking up into her face and forcing her to meet his eyes.

       "A bonny name for a bonny lass, my beauty," His hand, without the gloves this time, reached up, cupping her jaw and she found that she'd forgotten for an instant to breathe. He clenched his own jaw for a moment, feeling the softness of her skin beneath the calloused roughness of his palm before broaching the subject that hadn't left his head since he'd undressed her the night before. "Last night, in the garden… it wasn't the first time ye're sainted father'd laid a hand on ye, was it love?" Isabelle closed her eyes against his gaze, if she looked him full in the face she wouldn't be able to lie. Besides, she wasn't sure that he'd believe it if she did. She finally refused to answer. But even that was an answer unto itself. 

       Jack took her silence as confirmation and reeled with the knowledge. He'd had Anamaria in here last night to help him with the task of removing her clothes, he may not be a gentleman, but if she'd come to with him standing over her and her bein' naked… well it wouldn't do at all now would it? Actually it had been the woman who'd noticed the various bruises on Isabelle's body. Some old, some new, she'd pointed htem out as an oddity on a well bred woman's skin. Most of them looked to be put on with something like a wide belt. Jack wondered about that, he really did. "My father has many things on his mind," she finally answered, almost like an apology.

       "Don't make excuses for him, darlin'." Jack answered, anger coloring his voice and making her wince.

       "For the most part they were my own fault, captain. I am head strong and reckless, you knew that the minute you saw me on the beach."

       "I lass, but it never entered my head to beat the spirit out of ye, now did it?" She opened her eyes with a snap, surprise evident on her face. Jack wondered if it were surprise that not all men were violent, or simply surprise that a pirate wasn't. 

       "My father loves me," she said softly, shaking free of his hand and rising from the chair, turning her back on him completely and staring out of the large windows that bowed out from the body of the ship. It was as though the bubble that was the stern of the ship was made of nothing but leaded glass, or at least the part of it that made up this cabin. Jack cursed in his head, standing as well and placing his hands on her shoulders. 

       "I never said he didn't, love," he pointed out quietly. When she didn't protest to his touch, he placed a gentle, chaste kiss on the top of her head, easing her body against his stronger one. Isabelle sighed, feeling his arms slide down from her shoulders to wrap around her waist, holding her to him in silence. How long had it been since she'd been held like this? Since she'd allowed anyone to comfort her with even the remotest possibility of comfort? It was a simple pleasure that she'd denied herself since John Lockwood had first taken the strap of his swordbelt to her skin. She'd always assumed she deserved it, that comfort for something that was her rightful punishment was sinful, selfish even. But what if she'd never really deserved it to start with? Oh yes, Isabelle surmised, being in this man's presence, in the quiet circle of strength that was his arms, was dangerous business indeed. It made her doubt the very foundations of who she thought she was. 

       She realized suddenly that she was crying. That gentle, fat tears rolled down her cheeks and that she wasn't being any to quiet about it either. Jack made a sound deep in his throat and turned her around gently, pillowing her head in the hollow of his throat and rubbing her back in slow, lazy circles. Isabelle wept with the realization that the only person who understood her was a thief. A man with no morals and no decency. She'd be lucky to get out of this with her maidenhood in tact and yet here she was crying on his shoulder as though the world would end if he ever let her go. It wasn't fair! "What'll happen to me?" She asked softly against the rough stubble of his throat and he sighed, seeming ill content to break the silence.

       "Yer father'll meet my demands and I'll return ye to Barbados as promised." 

       "How long will it take?" He shrugged.

       "That all depends on how long it takes him and her majesty's navy to track me down, doesn't it?" He reached blindly behind him and retrieved a handkerchief from the desk. The moment had effectively been broken and the sooner he got back some semblance of what passed for propriety the better. He drew back enough that he could gently wipe her eyes with the cloth. She let him, her sobs having already dried to sniffles. "Ah, there's a good lass, now, blow like a good girl." She shot him a reproachful glance, but blew her nose into the handkerchief as requested. He grinned, throwing it back on the desk in a crumpled heap. "Yer still a beauty," he answered her look blithely, his charm coming back full throttle. "Even when yer eyes are runny and yer nose is red." 

       Oh yes, Isabelle thought distantly, she was definitely in trouble. 


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Foggy Night Serenade 4/?

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own anybody

Summary: After a tender moment in the cabin, it's back to reality

Author's Note: thanks to everybody for great reviews, I'm certainly loving them. Here's the next chapter, I hope ya'll enjoy it!

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       It had been two days since he'd held her in the cabin, and he seemed intent on avoiding her until she forgot the incident even occurred, or maybe avoiding her until she left his bloody ship completely. Isabelle found that the crew wasn't nearly so bad as she'd assumed on the first day. Oh, certainly they were a course bunch, but they were friendly enough if she tried to start a conversation, though she wondered if that were because they were genuinely interested or if their captain had threatened them if they weren't civil. Gibbs had already told her, in jest of course, about his misgivings about her being aboard ship with a group of people who were so below her station, but she'd put his mind at ease almost immediately and she intended to keep it that way. She wasn't some prima donna whose needs neither had to be catered to, nor was she a wilting society flower who would fade without the proper attention. If anything she desired to be alone, but it was hard to be completely alone aboard a ship. 

       Unless of course you were Captain Jack Sparrow. 

If he were any other man she'd swear he was sulking, but she had a feeling Jack never sulked. Brooded maybe, but sulking was out of the question. She wondered what exactly had set him off. Was it something that had happened in the cabin? Isabelle fell into a habit she had learned through her father whenever something undesirable happened and immediately began to mentally debate whether or not she herself had done something to set him over the edge. Perhaps she had. She didn't know his moods well enough to truly judge anyway. The only person aboard this cursed ship who seemed to was Gibbs. And even he could only shake his head and sigh. 

       It'd been two days and Isabelle was finding exactly how short her temper truly was. She'd seen him a few times, but he'd always walked away, not even truly looking at her, giving her the same consideration he gave one of the ship's masts. It was enough to drive any sane person mad. She looked down at the dress she wore, borrowed from a cache of clothes in one of Jack's various trunks. It resembled something she'd wear to an afternoon tea. Vaguely formal, but still an afternoon dress, conservative in the way that should she keep the kerchief around her neck it showed nothing. But lose the kerchief and two swells of feminine flesh flowed over the bodice to sit almost inviting touch. The material was a jade so light it was the border between green and cream, the color actually making her eyes appear a darker shade of startling forest green. She hadn't picked the dress, Jack had. She'd awoken two days ago and found it lying across the bed, complete with new chemise and undergarments. Though the absence of a corset was incredibly conspicuous and she almost asked Anamaria about it.

       Anamaria had become her unofficial companion as of late, though whether it was because Gibbs assumed the two women should remain together as much as possible (which Isabelle doubted) or because Jack had asked the other woman to look after her, was anybody's guess. After the first day, when the woman had come to help Isabelle dress, it had become painfully obvious that while she was an attractive thing, Anamaria had neither the time nor the interest in anything remotely feminine. She could if she chose, it was obvious she was intelligent, but she lacked the interest. It was something that intrigued Isabelle to no end. "You really haven't worn a dress since you were thirteen? Not even once?" She asked in disbelief, staring at the woman as though she'd grown an extra head. Anamaria sighed.

       "No, I haven't. And I don't intend to any time soon."

       "Why not?"

       "Because I'm not tryin' to attract attention to m'self just because I've got a set of tits." 

       "That is _not-"_

       "I ne'er said it was, Miss Isabelle, but that is something that most women do." Isabelle stared at the seasoned sailor, her capable hands busy mending the many knots of a fishing net, and she was silent for so long Anamaria continued, almost as though to explain herself. "I earn me keep just like any man, I'm their equal and I've never felt the need to be anything below that." 

       "So you've never wanted to settle down? Get married? Have children?" The darker woman sighed, setting the net down at her feet.

       "Why? Marriage implies a contract, a contract implies equality on the part o'the two parties and most men don't see the women they tup as equal. And who the bloody devil said I had to get married to have children?" Isabelle gasped, appropriately scandalized. "Let me ask you a question, missy, why do you think that I should want all those things?"

       "Because… it's… normal." Anamaria arched an eyebrow.

       "So what yer sayin' is, I'm not normal. Is that about the short of it?" Isabelle blanched, obviously not wanting to put it quite like that but not finding any other way to put it. "Alright, let me ask you another question. What do you call a woman who exchanges her body for coin?" Isabelle shrugged. 

       "I'd call her a whore."

       "I'd call her a wife." Anamaria stared at her, completely serious and Isabelle found that she couldn't be ask scandalized as she was before. Talk like this would have her father positively murderous. "Think about it, miss. A woman marries and then she's responsible for a man who can do anything he bloody well wants. She's been raised to take care of him, tha means she can't make her own money, and the only money she gets, she gets by keepin' him happy. How does she keep him happy? That'd be obvious, spendin' most of her time on the flat of her back wi her toes to the sky." 

       "That's a very bleak outlook," Isabelle finally answered. 

       "Yes, it is. Because I've seen it in action. Why do you want to do all tha things you seem so intent on wantin' me to do? Do ye want to marry a man ye don't know, but yer father's picked out and then go off and live with him until ye give him a passle o brats?" Isabelle winced.

       "It's what's expected of me," she answered softly, staring out into the rolling horizon. 

       "But is it what ye want?" 

       "I don't know."      

       "Why do ye think tha's what ye have to do, then?" Isabelle shrugged, it was a very unladylike gesture, but it was one she was picking up being around these… pirates.

       "Because it's what I was born to do. I'm the daughter of John Lockwood, it is my duty to marry well and-"

       "And ye sound about as thrilled as a termite in a cement box." 

       "It's who I am, Anamaria. I don't have a choice." The woman gave her a keen look.

       "Ah but ye do, lass. I'll wager if ye asked the Captain nice enough and used some o the same wiles on him tha ye planned on usin' on yer future husband he'd let ye stay here. As a laundress mayhap, or," she shrugged, nodding her head up at the sails, "mayhap a seamstress. It'll keep ye locked a goodly amount o time in his cabin. Or at least, more so than now anyway." Isabelle rose, angry now and unable to miss the insinuation in the last comment.

       "Is that what he's saying?"

       "What would that be, then?"

       "That I'm spending all my time in his cabin to… to…"

       "Convince him to keep ye happy?"

       "That… that… that…"

       "Thar's a sentence in there just achin' ta  come out, Isabelle," Anamaria found herself trying very hard not to laugh. The woman's pique was so fast and all encompassing that she found Gibbs was right. The girl was really quite taken with the Captain. 

       "Cad," she finished, "Rogue, ruffian, ill-mannered jack o' nape!" She turned with a swirl of skirts. Anamaria watched the new development with a serious eye. Yes, the lady was headed straight back to the cabin. If Jack left it without at least one bruise on his head, then he'd have either bedded her or knocked her out cold before she'd even started talking. Anamaria picked up the net again, this was her life, she was as good at sailing as any man. And Isabelle had gone to prove she was as good at, well, goading Jack as any other woman. Mayhap better, no other woman had got him hiding out in his own cabin on his own ship like some sort of whipped dog in heat. 

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"Jack Sparrow, you black eyed bastard, you're going to talk to me or you're not leaving this cabin alive!" Jack eyed the other occupant of the cabin coolly and unlaced  his fingers, bringing them down from their careless perch behind his head and staring across the desk as though his dog had just sat up and danced a jig.

       "Something is troubling you, Mister Gibbs?"

       "Damn right, something's troubling me, what in the bloody hell is the meaning of how ye're treatin' Miss Isabelle?" Jack arched an eyebrow. All that over a woman?  
       "I'm treating her a particular way?"  
       "Oh you know damn well what ye're doin' to her than I do, Cap'n and thar's another thing. I've never been ashamed to say I'd follow ye to hell and back if tha's what need be, but this is just cruel."

       "The last time I checked, Mister Gibbs, I was a pirate and therefore, was supposed to be cruel. Did I miss anything?"

       "Ye're supposed to be cruel to yer enemies, not yer lovers."

       "She's a hostage and who in blue blazes said she was my lover?!?" Jack's legs swept down from the desk and he rose, pacing an angry length of the cabin without his usual sway. Actually, since Gibbs had entered the room he hadn't used the swagger at all. Most assumed it was a side effect of 'demon rum'. Gibbs knew better. Gibbs also knew better than to comment on the marked improvement to the man's speech and vocabulary, but it still baffled him sometimes. 

       "Don't insult the intelligence of the men, Jack. The way she's been acting? The way ye've been acting? Anyone with eyes can tell something happened that night in yer cabin, ever since then when she's in here you're out there and when she's out there yer in here. This ship is a marvel, we all know tha, but let's be honest mate, it's not tha big. Pretty soon one o ye's gonna have to start swimmin' if yer that intent on avoidin' the other." 

       "I did not," Jack suddenly found himself floundering for the appropriate word, "take _advantage_," he finally began, hissing out the sentence with vehemence to make his point, "Of Mistress Lockwood. Truth to tell I could have and she would have welcomed it, but I refrained. If for no other reason than I didn't feel the urge, her father is my enemy, and she certainly doesn't deserve to be dragged any more into this than necessary, now does she?" 

       "What are ye sayin, she wouldn't ha said no, Jack? Was she askin' for it then? A fine bred woman beggin' a pirate for a night o pleasure isn't exactly tha unheard of in certain circles," Gibbs was right, some of the ladies in society wanted a taste of danger, they found it in buccaneers, not pirates. The difference was slim, but never the less grating. Jack found himself talking through clenched teeth, his anger apparent from the way his fists were clenched at his sides to the deepening frown on his face, his jaw rock hard. 

       "She was in pain, I comforted her, truthfully I held her until she'd cried herself out and then went on watch. I spent the night in the crow's nest, Gibbs and Max'll vouch for that." Gibbs sighed, he'd known it, but part of him had hoped that by poking the viper that was Jack's past through his unfortunate present, he'd find a way to help the man through his hell. 

       "I know, Cap'n. But I had to let ye know what they're sayin, she walks among them every day. Sooner or later a rumor's gonna get back to her, and how will she react?" 

       "Are you assuming that I care what the lady thinks of me, Mister Gibbs? Assuming I thought it prudent to-"

       "You dirty liar!" The door to the cabin slammed open, cutting Jack off mid-sentence. Isabelle strode inside, not realizing that in that second Jack's face had been wiped clean of emotion, going from almost aristocratic in his kohl lined eyes and beaded hair, to pirate captain with a swagger without even missing a beat.

       "Ah, what's the problem now, love? Have ye finally realized tha' I'm not ta be trusted, then?" Isabelle didn't even look at Gibbs, just walked purposely to stand in front of Jack, her hands on her hips. 

       "How dare you insinuate to anyone aboard this rat ridden vessel that I'm your… your…" 

       "Companion?" he supplied sweetly and she reared back, slapping him without thinking. Jack's head was thrown to the side, his hair flying around him and his tricorned hat knocked askew. The sound of the slap had run through the cabin like a gun shot and Gibbs winced, wisely deciding to leave the two alone to work it out by themselves. 

       Isabelle's hand throbbed and she realized exactly what she'd done. She'd just physically assaulted a dangerous criminal, a man she'd watched both threaten her and her father at gun point and then nearly kill her father all within the span of twenty minutes. The seconds ticked by and she watched Jack breathe deeply through his nose, his jaw clenched. He straightened slowly, tossing his hair out of his face finally and staring down at her with anger riding his shoulders like wings. The imprint of her palm was clearly visible on his cheek and she bit her lip, scared of what would happen next. "There had better be a damned good reason why ye've come into me own cabin and taken yer temper out on me, lass," he said quietly, his voice grating down her spine like ground glass. 

       She opened her mouth to apologize but found that it was to late, he'd made her angry, she'd reacted. She shouldn't be surprised she supposed. Perhaps she truly was her father's daughter.  "You made me angry," she answered softly, the only thing close to an apology she could say without loosing all ground completely. 

       "So I gathered," he answered dryly and she shivered. "Now out wi it, love, I'm a very impatient man," he finished, a practiced leer going down the bodice of the dress and suddenly she was just as mad as she had been minutes before.

       "You've got the crew thinking there's something between us that isn't!" 

       "And how would ye be knowin' that, love?"

       "Anamaria told me," she answered, not realizing that perhaps names wouldn't be a good thing at this point. Jack arched an eyebrow.

       "Oh she did, did she? Well she won't be tellin' ye anything else by this evenin' then, will she?" He swept passed her, going to the cabin door with the full intent of wrestling up some ail and getting good and properly drunk.

       "What are you going to do to her?!" She asked, desperation in her voice. Jack stopped mid-swagger, his hand on the knob. Oh, this had possibilities. He turned, his voice suddenly silky as he walked back to stand in front of her.     

       "What do ye think I should do to a member of me crew that talks out of turn, love? She took an oath, not to reveal any of the secrets learned on this vessel when she joined. There are consequences." 

       "It wasn't her fault! We were having an argument-"

       "An argument?" By his tone Jack knew that Isabelle thought he didn't believe her, the incredulity in it was to baiting, to obvious, but it didn't matter. 

       "Yes! I said something she didn't' agree with and she insinuated and I guessed the rest. It wasn't her fault!" He reached up, his hand cupping the side of her face. This loyalty to a friend she'd known less than two days surprised Jack, made him want to explore it further. And Gibbs was right as well, he was taken with the girl. He hadn't wanted to admit it, he'd sworn to never go down that road again anyway, but this was different. He was the captain, after all and there were certain expectations. If Lockwood thought his daughter would be returned to him as pure as she was taken, then he was mad. Besides, no one said whether or not the plucking of the virginal fruit had to be done violently. If she enjoyed it (and he'd be sure that she did) then it'd form a bond. She'd feel it meant something, she'd become devoted to him, and that had it's definite advantages. It was this line of thinking and not the wilder one in the back of his mind (the one that said this line of thinking was complete smoke and mirrors) that had him begin speaking to her, his voice silky.

       "And what would ye do, love, to ensure that she wasn't punished?" Isabelle stared up into his eyes, seeing the savagery in them and something darker underneath, something that didn't frighten her but set her blood pumping through her body none the less. 

       "Anything," she answered finally. His fingers stroked down her neck and she closed her eyes against the sensation, her breath coming in a sigh.

       "Anything, ye say?" his lips were so close to hers she felt the brush of them, but not the way she wanted to feel them.  

       "Anything." Her confirmation left his blood pumping to places that he usually kept tight control of. But her reactions overwhelmed him. This wasn't good. He wanted to stop, but her eyes were making him think of the solitude of the forest, that green dark where the leaves are so thick that a man could get lost in the cool shadows and never be found again. Her heart beat against his palm, the vein in her neck going so fast under his hand that it was like a trapped thing. His other hand went to the tie of the kerchief. With a deft yank it came undone, the material falling to two sides. He grabbed an end and yanked, pulling it free of her body and letting it fall to the ground. The two half moons of her breasts stood out from the bodice, the neckline was so low that he wondered how she managed to move at all without spilling her nipples from it. Actually, it was what he wanted to do now. 

       His hands caressed the air just above her breasts, her skin tingled with such heightened sensation that she could feel the heat of him scant millimeters above her skin, yet he wasn't touching. Not yet. She opened her eyes, staring up into his and the feeling that she was caught in a spider's web returned. This had been a way to keep Anamaria from being harmed, to stop the immediate guilt that someone else would have to suffer for something that was her fault (though her rational mind was screaming that Anamaria was member of his crew and never really would have come to harm) and it was hard to think past her breath sawing through her lungs. She heard a sound like the wind rushing through trees during the angry splashes of a storm and realized it was his breathing. 

       Jack's fingers finally touched the rounded fullness of her left breast and she gasped. His eyes searched hers, the darkness filling them. A savage maleness seemed to shine through his eyes and it made her body sway toward his. "How much…?" He asked softly. She forced herself to think straight for a moment.

       "What…?" His fingers trailed a path over her breasts, creating patterns, making her skin break into gooseflesh at a touch.

       "How much are you willing to give up," his lips just barely touched the skin of her jaw where it met her ear, "for a woman you barely know?" His breath tickled her skin and she felt tears well in her eyes. A need for something she barely understood swelled through her and she swallowed her fear of this.

       "Anything…" 


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Foggy Night Serenade 5/?

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't sue

Summary: Definition of the word "anything"

Author's Note: I'm so, so, so sorry this chapter took so long! The school internet was down for a long time and then it was up but my Word program didn't work. Anyway, here it is and I'd worship any feedback you want. Hope ya'll enjoy!

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       "Anything," Jack echoed softly, staring down at her body in a mixture of disbelief and ache. He wanted to take advantage of that, the pirate in him already had her on the bed and naked under him, rough and hard. The gentleman in him was outside the cabin, drinking himself to oblivion and trying his damnedest to forget that the heavy green lids were staring up at him with wonder and need. Then there was the part of him that was neither pirate nor gentleman, an ordinary bloke who wanted to protect her because she needed protecting and love her because she needed loving. The part of him that was still just Jack wasn't sure what the hell to do, but he knew what he wanted to do. It was somewhere between all three, hard and rough, oblivious and chivalric, and then of course protective and loving. It'd been a long time since he'd felt so conflicted and he wasn't sure he liked it. "That'd be a very broad term, lass." 

       Her hands were clenched so hard in the folds of the skirt that they trembled slightly. She blinked, forcing herself to look him in the eye and unclench them. They seemed to rise of their own volition and go to the bodice of the dress. He opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly, his throat gone dry. Her fingers caressed the cloth, finding the strings that held it together and trailing down to the bow. She untied it slowly, the moment drew out and if he'd known better he would have sworn she was doing it on purpose. But the look in her eyes was just as scared as the tremor in her fingers proclaimed it to be. "I don't care," she answered his statement softly, the laces loosening under her touch and the over dress gaped, allowing him a glimpse at a long line of chemise. 

       For the first time since she'd boarded the ship Jack damned himself for not allowing her a corset. At least that would have afforded her a bit more modesty, and him a bit more to divert his eyes from the thin layers of cloth separating him from bare skin. The jade silk shrugged again and it left her shoulders. She spread her arms and it slid completely down her shoulders, catching briefly on her elbows before puddling into the floor. The chemise was thin, so thin that he could see the flush of her skin spreading from her chest to her throat. "Do ye have any idea what ye're doin' love?" He forced himself to keep with who he was. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the high seas, he wouldn't lose that. He'd slipped earlier in her presence, it wouldn't happen again. She shook her head.

       "No," Isabelle answered softly, the thin straps of the chemise threatening to slide down her shoulders as the dress had. "I have no idea what I'm doing." Her hands flattened, going through the air between them, air that suddenly felt like a wall, and settling on his chest. The cotton of his shirt felt warm under her fingers, warm from his skin. "But I know I don't want to stop," she finished, her eyes pleading for something that she wasn't even sure she could name. 

       "Why?" he asked softly, suddenly unable to stop his own hands from gently cupping her cheeks. "This changes nothing, Isabelle." She froze.   

       "But you said if-"

       "I asked you what you were willing to do for Anamaria. I never said it would dissuade me from what I was going to do to her." She glared up at him, his hands had left her cheeks, grabbing her wrists so that she couldn't move. She was effectively trapped against him. 

       "And what were you going to do?" Jack shrugged. 

       "Give her a sound talking to for upsetting you." Her eyes widened and he grinned, flashing teeth and those damned dimples. "Ye didn't' think I was goin' to waste one o'me best crewmen now did ye, love?" Isabelle jerked, trying to get away from him, suddenly angry. "Awe, ye want to stop now, do ye lass?" He released her, amusement obvious on his face. She backed away, almost tripping in the dress, but stepping around it, perhaps realizing exactly how vulnerable she was to him in her present state of undress. 

       "You-"

       "Cad?" He supplied sweetly. Isabelle reacted before she realized it. The sound of the slap rang through the room like a gunshot and she froze. Her hand stung and Jack's head had been thrown to the side. He straightened, tossing his hair back from his face and the imprint of her palm stood out in angry red relief against the tanned skin. She stumbled back, suddenly aware of what she'd done, his eyes flashed fire and he reacted before she had time to run. His hands shot out, grabbing her by the upper arms, his fingers digging just above her elbows. His lips took hers, scorching, his mouth forcing hers open, his tongue plundering. She groaned low in her throat, fighting to get away but his mouth was insistent. 

       The kiss was hot, the heat warming her clear to her toes. Isabelle didn't know how to react to this, but as soon as she was ready to kiss back he released her, stepping back and breathing deep through his lungs, Jack shoved a hand through his hair and couldn't help but notice that her nipples had hardened through the chemise. "You deserved that, love," he answered, fingering his jaw, the marks left from her palm had faded a bit, though they were still a dark pink. Isabelle's body was reeling, but she couldn't bring herself to care. He shrugged, turning to the cabinet and removing a bottle and tumbler. Jack downed the contents of the glass quickly, pouring himself another before he had time to think. She'd responded better than he thought she would, he was forcing himself to think of other things, mundane things, things like gutting fish. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough on that he could get the image of her soft and pliant against him out of his head. 

       "Jack?" He sighed, so much for forgetting.      

       "What is it, then-" He broke off in surprise. Isabelle stood before him, her arms crossed over her breasts, but the chemise itself pooled in the crooks of her elbows. More of her breasts were bared to his sight than any bit of propriety allowed. She sighed, her heart still beat hard under her chest and she continued to try and get her breathing under control. She took a step toward him, then another, he found himself staring down at her before he was ready for it and his body responded the same way it had earlier. He cursed, taking another hasty sip of the liquor, this time from the bottle. 

       "Why did you stop?" Well  that was hardly what he was expecting. She started up at him, completely serious. Jack searched for an answer, unable to find one that was very convincing. 

       "You don't know what you're asking, Isabelle." His voice was gruff, she narrowed her eyes, choosing not to acknowledge the absence of his trademark, dockside Cockney. 

       "I think I do," she countered, he took another drink from the bottle. "You want me, you think I don't see how you look at me? Why not just take it?" There was something in her voice, a cynicism that he hadn't expected. 

       "Take it? Just like that, you want me to take it?" She arched an eyebrow and let her arms drop. The chemise left her body like a breath. He groaned low in his throat. 

       "A man can only take so much temptation, Isabelle," he warned again. She didn't respond, just stood before him quietly, completely nude. Her breasts were tight, her nipples hard little buds against the pale, flawless skin. His eyes skimmed lower, taking in the shadow at the top of her thighs, the way her body trembled under his scrutiny. He shook his head as though to clear it and lifted the bottle, intent on taking another drink. Her fingers left her sides, fluttering above her breasts, much as his had earlier, gently caressing her own flesh like a lover. 

       The bottle crashed to the floor. 

       Isabelle jumped, her eyes leaving his to look at the liquid as it pooled around their feet. The shards of glass were dangerously close to her bare feet and Jack caught it. It was seconds before he took her in his arms, lifted her and stepped over the mess, his boots crunching broken glass into the hardwood floor. She was naked in his arms, her own arms went round his neck and he found her breasts pressed to his chest. He set her down in the center of the cabin bed, stepping back abruptly and forcing himself to turn around. She stared at the expanse of his back in surprise, drawing her knees under her Isabelle sat up, reaching out to him and edging toward his figure. "Jack… please," she wasn't sure what she was asking him to do, only alleviate the need that pressed around her like a vice. 

       He forced his voice to work, her fingers brushed the skin between his shoulder blades and he forced the shiver away. "Please what, Isabelle?" He rounded to stare down at her. Her breasts heaved softly and her eyes spoke of things he'd rather not think about. A glimmer of memory shined in the back of his mind at those eyes and he forced that away to the same place as the shiver. "What would you have me do?" She shrugged gently, her nipples hardening further, almost too painful pinpricks. He spread his arms wide, encompassing the room in the sweeping gesture. "I'm a pirate love, nothing more. The only reason I haven't taken complete advantage of that taunt little body is a whim. Do you understand that?" She blinked whatever she had expected she hadn't expected that. He plunged his hands into her hair, snapping the thong that held it in a low tail that trailed down her back and shoving his fingers through her scalp, causing it to fan around her shoulders in token modesty. The strands brushed her hypersensitive skin and she shivered. Was this new torture? "Do you have any idea how much I want to take you? I want to shove you down on that bed, spread your thighs and ride you raw, Isabelle," his voice was low, gruff, his lips next to her ear. She whimpered softly, her breasts brushing the cotton of his shirt again and he stopped, forcing himself to take hold of his senses. 

       His desire was there, a hard knot in his breeches and she could see it, sense it, he'd pulled her close, it was there, just touching her skin below her belly. She shivered. "Jack-"

       "Are you scared yet, my beauty?" His voice lowered further, turning silky. He didn't know why he was doing this, but perhaps scaring her into fighting him would stop the desire that flowed through his blood like liquid fire. Maybe the self loathing that accompanied this threat of rape would stop him from seeing her in his mind's eye, legs wide, eyes wider, skin glowing under his body. "You should be. I'm a pirate, love. I take what I want and give nothing back. You think you can flaunt your…," he made a show of looking down her body and then stared back into her eyes, "charms… and not have me react?" She stared up at him, considering. He saw something spark in her eyes and her hands clenched in his shirt. "Well?"

       "That's the problem, Jack," she answered softly, her fingers sliding downward suddenly, reaching the bulge in his breeches and her eyes flicking up to see if he was watching. He was. "I want you to." That was all it took. 

       His lips claimed hers again and she groaned low in her throat, reacting to the fervor in his kiss and creating more. Her fingers pulled at the cotton shirt and jerked it out of the breeches. He let her go, his lips still on hers as he slowly untied the sash at his waist. The satin fell to the floor. Her fingers found the buttons on the breeches and she faltered suddenly. There was no turning back from this moment and she knew it. Her breath caught in her throat and she gasped. He smiled down at her, suddenly gentle. His fingers caught hers and held them. "Do you want to stop?" He lifted them to his lips, kissing first her left hand then turning her right so that his lips brushed the soft underside of her wrist. Isabelle stared up at him in surprise, he'd really…? "If you don't want this, Isabelle, it won't happen." His voice was low, his eyes intense. 

       "But I thought-"

       "I don't make it a habit to take unwilling women. Either you want to be here or you don't. If you don't… then I'll sleep elsewhere." Even though it'd likely kill him, he thought to himself. His desire was evident to them both, it was becoming an ache and if she wanted to stop then he would. But he needed to find a quiet corner to himself soon or he'd embarrass himself before he could leave the cabin. 

       The knowledge that he'd stop if she asked filled her belly like wine. She closed her eyes for a moment, dealing with this knew bit of information and made her decision. Turning her hands so that she was holding his she looked into his eyes. He stared down at her, finding that the more time he spent in her naked presence, the more he was surprised. She drew his hands downward, her fingers exerting the barest amount of pressure on his palms so that when she placed them over her breasts he found himself cupping the orbs. Jack's throat was dry. 

       "Don't stop," she answered him softly before she leaned up, capturing his lips with her own. Jack could do nothing but kiss her back, his fingers kneading her flesh before going up to hold her head against his own. Her fingers found the buttons of his breeches and deftly undid them. His body responded to her fingers and he gasped against her lips. She jerked back as though burned, "What? Did I… did I do something wrong?" Suddenly she looked as virginal as she had earlier. He remembered the seductress he'd held in his arms moments ago was as inexperienced as she was passionate. Jack chuckled low in his throat, his fingers caressing the column of her neck. 

       "No Belle," his lips brushed hers and she shivered. 'Belle', beautiful one. He'd called her beautiful. "No m'darlin'… but if you keep that up this'll be over before it begins." His eyes danced and he kissed her nose. "D'you want me to spend quickly, like a cabin boy?" She shook her head, taking her lower lip into her mouth and worrying it gently with her teeth. He gently disentangled her hands and stepped back, removing the boots and sliding the breeches downward. The shirt left his body as well and within seconds she was awarded the first unimpeded view of his body. Her breath caught in her throat and she let her eyes rake down his toned skin. Jack's muscles clenched, the need to throw her on the bed without the clothes between them was strong. She seemed to sense it, her fingers reached for him and she lay back, the feather mattress giving beneath her. 

       Jack rose over her, his hands brushing her cheeks as he slid over her body with an ease that only come with experience. His hand traveled down her body, gently urging her thighs apart, she complied, shifting with the feeling of a strange new wetness. She wanted to explore each new sensation, to shove him away and hold each tingling as long as possible. She could feel him against her, his erection against her inner thighs and she shivered hard. "Jack-" 

       Her eyes were wide and he could tell she was nervous. "It's alright my beauty. This'll hurt, it can't not. But if it's anything more than a pinch… tell me." He kissed her eye lids. "I will stop. I promise." She smiled, ignoring the tremors in her lower body. Her fingers were fisted underneath the pillow, but she brought her left hand out, grabbing the twin braids of his beard and pulling him gently down to her lips. After a kiss that left her gasping she stared up at him, trust shining so intense in her eyes that he almost pulled away and ran. 

       "It won't hurt." She answered softly. He smiled, rewarding her with the dimples in his cheeks. He eased himself between her thighs, forcing his body to go slow. She was wet for him already, which surprised him actually he thought she'd need a bit more encouragement. No shrinking violet, this girl. He began a tentative thrust, she bucked her hips to meet him and he was sheathed quicker than he expected. There was no resistance. She groaned low in her throat, she was tight around him and he let her have a moment to adjust to his presence inside her. Isabelle kept still for a moment, it hurt, but only in that he was forcing her to stretch. She sighed against his hair, the various beads heavy on her cheek. 

       Her fingers tightened on his back, her nails scratching lightly and she moved against him, rolling her hips to accommodate his size. Jack thrust once. She rose up against him, he thrust again. It started slow, her whimpers caught in her throat as his body forced itself inside hers. The possession was complete from beginning to end. She groaned low and he captured her lips, putting it out of his mind as he took her body. "Love me, Jack," she murmured softly, his ear burned with the phrase. "Love me, oh love me," he came with a rush like fire, freezing over her body. Her own orgasm gripped her and she was forced to scream, the only word in her thoughts his name. She collapsed back on the mattress, he rolled gently off of her and pulled her into his arms. She opened her mouth, her throat dry, "That was…" She couldn't finish. Jack stared down at the woman in his arms and arched an eyebrow.

       "Why didn't you tell me, Isabelle? I would have handled things differently." She turned her head, staring over her shoulder at him in surprise. 

       "Tell you what?" The surprise on her face was so genuine that Jack couldn't force himself to finish, though he wanted to. He was burning with questions. 

       "This changes nothing," he cautioned instead. The words she'd whispered still had him reeling. 'Love me'? The only woman he'd ever love was the sea. And even that had it's limits. Isabelle sighed, closing her eyes as though it was what she'd expected. 

       "I know," she answered softly. "I just… spoke before I thought I suppose." She snuggled harder against him and Jack's arms tightened around her waist without thinking about it. "But could you hold me for a while? At least while I sleep?" He grinned. 

       "I suppose that could be arranged. Pleasant dreams love." She smiled softly and shivered as he pulled the coverlet over their bodies. There were a thousand questions flowing through Jack's head as she drifted off, a thousand different answers as well, but they could wait. He pulled the hair off her face and she smiled distantly in her sleep. Perhaps her dreams were pleasant, staring down the line of her body he could still see the bruises in the early evening light of the moon. 

       It only added to the questions. 


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Foggy Night Serenade 6/?

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't sue

Summary: Afterglow, or something like it

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       Jack awoke, reaching for the pale figure next to him and encountering only empty space. Instantly awake he sat up, looking around the corner of the bed to find her wrapped in the counterpane, her hair unbound and the leaded glass of the window giving her an ethereal glow. She was silent, her eyes watching the sea, her heart pounding, but she knew the exact moment he woke up, she could hear the change in his breath and then the quick indrawn that said he knew she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Isabelle played over every second of the afternoon before, they'd fallen asleep, she'd let him hold her, her dreams enveloping her until late in the night she'd had a nightmare. Shaken awake, Jack had given her ample reason to fall back to sleep in the blankets with nothing but oblivion to keep her company. 

       If she were honest with herself, she'd acknowledge that she was sore. But she wouldn't, that would imply that he'd bested her and she just wouldn't let that be so. He'd sworn it changed nothing, what'd happened between them, but he was so very wrong. It changed everything for her. Did he think she was one of those 'ladies' who were as free with their attentions as she was  with her purse strings, as though a tumble in the bedclothes were the same as buying a new hat to be cast aside with the next season? Or until a better design with bigger frills struck her fancy? She heard him rise from the bed and winced, turning resolutely to stare more fully at the brilliance that was the sea. The sun shone on the blue waters and dazzled the eye, making it hard for her to look at it without squinting. 

       "Good morning, love," his greeting was soft, his breath against her ear and she closed her eyes, leaning into the sound without realizing it. Jack placed his hands at her shoulders, not turning her, not drawing her toward him as he had days ago, but simply putting his hands on her skin. Why did the simple touch with no real promise of action behind it affect her more than if he'd flung her against the desk? 

       "Jack," she answered softly, there was a new tremor in her voice, it matched the way she felt, he caught it, but refused to comment. He wasn't going to be swayed from his purpose, she was a part of the plan, a very attractive part, but a part nonetheless. 

       "How're you feelin' then?" He answered finally, trying for mundane rather than concern. He was concerned, he didn't doubt that she thought herself a virgin, the surprise on her face last night had been genuine. But that again brought the questions ringing in his ears and he was trying to avoid those. At least for a while. 

       "Fine thank you," she answered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and making a small sound in her throat. Jack rolled his eyes, if she wanted to lie then fine, he wouldn't fault her for that. Perhaps the second time had been a bad idea, but she'd been so tempting against the mattress, her hair spread over the pillow, her eyes wide and her breath coming in short pants. She had said she didn't remember the dream, and mayhap she didn't, but it had been enough to make her lash out against him when he'd tried to wake her. For a moment when she'd opened her eyes it hadn't been Jack she'd seen, but a man. Didn't matter who the man was, just that he was there and she wasn't sure what he was going to do. So, he'd comforted her in the only way he knew how, using his body to ease the tightness in her chest, his lips to ease the tense muscles of her forehead and finally his fingers for… well, other places. 

       "Are ye hungry then, lass?" She shook her head, her eyes never wavering from the water. Jack grunted in irritation, finally turning her so that she was looking him in the eye. "What is it, Belle?" 

       "Don't call me that," she muttered, pulling the coverlet more securely around her shoulders and ignoring his nudity. Jack arched an eyebrow. 

       "Was there somethin' you preferred then, m'lady?" That condescension was back, the tone he'd used with her the first night on the beach. She sighed, she hadn't meant to anger him, only that name brought back so many feelings, like maybe he really could… but no, she wouldn't delude herself. For him she was just another in a list full of conquests. There was no doubt that she wasn't the first lady he'd tumbled either. 

       "No, I'm sorry, just not… that." She brushed passed him, going back into the darkness of the cabin and reaching for the chemise she let the coverlet drop to her ankles, baring her body for a moment before the silk encased it again. 

       "Isabelle, is there a reason why ye're walkin' around here like a whipped mutt?" He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her as she walked around the cabin, grabbing her clothes together and then dropping them in the floor when it was obvious she wouldn't be able to dress herself on her own. Her hands were shaking; she damned herself for the outward sign of weakness and tossed her tangled hair over her shoulders. She would be strong, her father would never falter, and her father would never have given into the weakness that led her to initiate the instance last night. He would have stood strong, as a matter of fact if he ever found that she was the one to instigate the loss of her maidenhead, he'd kill her with his bare hands. He'd certainly come close before. She furrowed her brow, she'd thought it would hurt more than it had, and there had been no blood, she'd checked when she'd awoken. What did that mean? 

       "Nothing, it's nothing." He glared across the cabin, clenching his jaw for a moment before losing his temper completely. He was halfway across the room before he started talking again.

       "God damn ye for a liar, Isabelle Lockwood, now tell me what's wrong or I'll-"

       "Or you'll what? Seduce it out of me?" She squared her shoulders, staring at him in open defiance. Jack raised his eyebrows. So that was it, she was having second thoughts about the night before. Truthfully he should have seen that coming, but then he wasn't exactly being truthful with himself on how he thought about the situation anyhow. He reached up and fingered one of the braids at his chin.

       "I seem to recall another party doin' most of the seduction, now love. Perhaps ye're brains got addled a bit in th'… scuffle?" 

       "Don't try to pin this on me, I would never have-"

       "Have what?" He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye, "Have proved ye're self to be a woman with needs and desires like any other? Or mayhap have lowered ye'reself to the likes of a pirate and his bed? Is that it, madam? Ye're feelin' a might unclean after the night's proceedings?" Isabelle recoiled at the tone in his voice. She hadn't meant to imply… but she had. Everything he said was true and she didn't have the strength to deny it. She just shook her head. His grip on her shoulders tightened and he shook her once as well. "Well?" 

       "Stop it, Jack!" She jerked herself out of his grasp and leapt backward. He let her go, his eyes hooded and angry. She glared at him, running a hand through her hair and wincing when it caught a snag. "I'm not some spoiled, high society brat that you can berate for her beliefs. You're right, I did think that you were lower than I, I did feel dirty, but-"

       "I am not a man to be used and discarded by a woman, Isabelle. You agree with me and then expect me to forgive like there was no wrong doing? What do you take me for? A lowly servant to take your apoligies and be happy for receiving them? Ye're spoiled, love. And if you think I'm going to take it lying down then-"

       "Then what?! What are you going to do Captain Sparrow? It can't be any worse than you've already done!" She turned her back on him, her entire body shaking now. She'd thought that by trying to apologize, by admitting that he was right it would make things better. But it seemed she'd struck some kind of nerve in Jack. She wondered what he'd meant. When had she ever treated him like a servant? Jack glared, narrowing his eyes to slits as he stared at the back of her head. Isabelle felt it rise in her and fought the urge, but the tears came anyway, her shoulders lifted with a barely suppressed sob and Jack caught that. He tried to ignore it, but the fight seemed to go out of him. He'd been in the presence of weeping females before and it never affected him like this, why with this woman did tears make him want to comfort instead of leave? He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

       "What have I done, Isabelle?" 

       "You've _ruined_ me!" She sobbed again, this time from somewhere deep in her chest, Jack's stomach clenched. He reached out, turning her slowly so she was facing him, her cheeks were tear streaked, her chest rose and fell with gasping sobs and she shook, covering her face with her hands so that she was hiding from him. He felt something in him tear at the thought that she would hide anything from him. He gently took her wrists in his hands, his fingers circling them he had the thought that they were like a bird's, delicate and easily broken. "Don't you understand?! It doesn't matter anymore that I come from a good family or that I'd make a good wife… none of it matters!"

       "It's alright love," he took her in his arms again, holding her shaking body and trying not to curse long and loud. 

       "No it's not alright! Jack…," she pulled back to look him in the eye, wiping her own with the back of her hand. "Jack, it was bad enough that I was kidnapped, that could be dealt with, but now that I'm no longer… there will be no match for me. I won't be able to find a husband; I won't… be anything but John Lockwood's daughter. I know it wasn't entirely your fault, I behaved deplorably last night, I welcomed your advances and made advances of my own, I wasn't thinking correctly. The blame lies with me as well, but" She sighed, shrugging her shoulders, "You don't care." 

       "When did I say I didn't care, lass?" 

       "You said last night that what happened changes nothing, Jack. Don't treat me like a child, I know that being with women isn't exactly something you shy from, Captain." 

       "So because I like women I have no heart, is that it?" He sighed, he should have thought of this earlier, or at least seen where it would have led. He should have left her alone last night, left her naked in this room and gone to the hold below, gotten good and drunk and… and once inebriated he would have found her anyway. 

       "I didn't say that," she answered dully.

       "Now I'll have to ask you not to treat me like a child, Isabelle. That's exactly what you meant and you know it." He'd lost the accent long ago and he didn't care. So much of who he was supposed to be left him when he was in this woman's presence, he needed to constantly remind himself that he had a course of action, that there was a plan that he had to stick with. Why couldn't he remember around her? "You lost your virginity, it doesn't make you anything other than what you already are." The look in her eyes said that he'd just made it worse. "You aren't a bad person, Isabelle. You saw something you wanted and you went for it. You have done nothing wrong." He didn't' have to say that it really didn't matter if she'd slept with him or not, the very fact that he'd taken her from Barbados ensured that they would assume the worst. 

       "I'm a pawn, is that what you're saying?" Jack shrugged.

       "No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying you're stuck in a deplorable situation that I would change if I could, and you're being forced to make the best of it. Don't blame yourself, lass, please. If it makes you feel better, then blame me." He stared down into her eyes and forced himself to gulp past the dryness in his throat. She blinked back more tears, before he could stop himself, Jack found that he was kissing her again. She responded to his lips with a hunger that matched his own. She may be damning herself for what had happened the night before, but she still wanted him, that much was clear. He groaned low in his throat, his fingers going to her hips. She shivered in his arms. 

       "Please, Jack," there was that phrase again. The way she said his name made him think himself capable of anything. He captured her lips again, forcing himself to think past her voice in his ear. It didn't work. His fingers slid down her hips to her thighs. Wihtout thought he grasped them, lifting her and parting her legs. Isabelle gasped against his lips and tossed her head back, allowing him access to her neck. She cried out when he placed her on the desk, her fingers going to his own waist to urge him to her center. Jack slid the silk up her thighs and she shook with anticipation. He felt her fingers close around his organ and he found he was close to spending himself. She stared up into his eyes, her own scared, "Tell me this doesn't make me a whore. Tell me that wanting you doesn't make me the lowest kind of woman. Tell me and just this once…" she bit her lip and Jack cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against the tracks the tears had made down her cheeks. "Just this once I'll believe you." He leaned forward, his lips tasting the salt on her skin, pulling back he let his hands travel down her sides, over her breasts, testing areas covered in silk and made somehow more erotic by the covering.

       "Isabelle-"

       "Jack, there's something you should see." Gibbs didn't stay in the room to see what he'd interrupted. The cabin smelled like sex, no matter that it had been last night, he didn't doubt he'd interrupted another moment such as that. He left as quickly as he'd come, ignoring his captain's nudity and the girl's wanton pose on the desk. Jack'd have to deal with the consequences of this when he dressed and went on deck. The militia had found them. 


End file.
